


In Your Court

by thecurlyginger



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Leslie-Centric, Romance, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecurlyginger/pseuds/thecurlyginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the parks closed, Leslie finds a way to pass the time. Tennis isn't fun without a little competition, though. Takes place between season 2 and 3 - AU after the events of 2x24.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Court

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic immediately after writing my last one but resisted against the smut that's all the rage these days. Forgive any errors; I've worked on this on and off on little sleep over the past few days. Otherwise - enjoy!

“Have you tried charging for some park services?” Ben's question elicits an incredulous laugh from Leslie.

With mocked interest she asks, “Oh, you mean charge to use the drinking fountain? Or maybe for each individual dog poop baggy?” Leslie's beyond caring that she's frustrating Ben. He's a jerk, even if he has nice qualities once in a while. Besides, they're running out of coffee in the conference room, and she's getting testy.

“Some cities charge for people to reserve courts, like basketball and tennis courts. That way, they can keep up maintenance and limit people from hogging them.”

Ron's been silent throughout Ben and Leslie's fight, so they're both startled when he speaks up. “Unlikely. Pawnee is _fat_. Charing to use the already sparsely-used courts won't entice anyone to exercise.”

Ben rubs his face. “I called you both in today because you said you were willing to make some serious cuts. I'm not seeing that here. What I'm seeing...”

Leslie lets Ben drone on while contemplating the idea that's blossoming in her head.

“Tennis!” April's just filing through the door when Leslie exclaims the sport, though April's not the only confused one in the room. They're all gathered for their bi-weekly pizza party, funded and hosted by Leslie, per her own request. She wants to keep up with everybody, while most everyone else besides her morally supportive, beautiful friend Ann is more interested in the pizza and to see when they'll be back to work so they can get paid.

“Hockey!” Andy exclaims. They all turn to him. “Are we not just shouting sport names?”

Leslie grins. “No, I've decided that we can spend more time together while having fun playing tennis! It's a super easy sport to play without having to really know how to play it, _and_ we can have doubles teams!”

“But the parks are closed,” Jerry offers, “so how are we going to use the courts?”

While Leslie groans, everyone else is silent, thinking that for once, he brings up a good point. “ _Obviously_ I looked into that, Jerry. I found a local gym that will give us two courts for ten bucks a week, they're so desperate for customers. And--”

“Leslie, look,” Tom starts, “I appreciate the effort and all, but I'm enjoying spending the shut down _not_ at work, _not_ with people I work with, and _not_ exercising besides sexy times with my girlfriend.”

Though no one is as outright as Tom, the mood is a bit low afterward. “All right, just think about it okay? I'll email the details and you can get back to me. But in case you all decide to play and are looking for partners, I've called dibs on Ann.” Ann smiles, highfiving Leslie when she extends out her arm.

The rest of the evening is enjoyable, with Donna and Tom sharing their favorite videos of the week, Andy and Ron competing to see how many pepperonis they can each fit on one slice of pizza, April scaring Jerry with her glare, and Leslie telling glory stories from her high school tennis team years to Ann who, despite agreeing to team up with her best friend, has only played Wii Tennis with Andy when they were dating. As they all file out at the end of the night, Leslie's head is held high, expecting them to change their minds and respond to her invitation.

What she doesn't expect is to receive an email from Chris saying, “Sign me and Ben Wyatt up as a team. I literally have never been so excited for a group of hardworking individuals to come together for a day of fun and exercise. Stay hydrated!”

Leslie can't imagine who would have extended that invitation until she scrolls down Chris' email and sees that it was forwarded by Jerry.

“He's the worst!” Leslie is pacing her cluttered home, walking furiously up and down hallways, phone pressed to her ear.

“And no one else replied?” Ann's using her lunch break to talk to Leslie, who has no idea what to do.

She finally settles down on he couch, free hand rummaging through her old tennis bag. “Of course they didn't. I can't tell Chris and Ben no, right? That's too mean. I could fake being sick! But then they'll insist I stay home while they're slashing budgets. No, we've gotta do this, and maybe we can kick Ben's ass! Thanks, Ann.”

“You're welcome, I guess,” Ann barely gets out before Leslie hangs up the phone. There's still some work to do before they start playing.

She insists on getting to the courts early on Saturday and preparing with Ann, so Leslie sleeps over the night before. For breakfast, Leslie makes sure they're drinking plenty of water with their eggs and toast, even turning down bacon for its salt content. She's pumped up. One of the things that first drew her into the sport was the outfit – for once, there's a plausible girly sports uniform that is both cute and functional. She buys matching skirts for her and Ann: Ann's in red and Leslie's in green. They're lathered up in sunscreen and wearing the right shoes before they step into the car.

Somehow, after all this, they're still half an hour early. The guy at the booth doesn't care; he takes their money and points them to the two adjacent courts. Leslie kept them both under the reservation in case anyone else decides to show up; it's highly unlikely now but gives each team their own warm up court. Once their bags are put down, their racquets are out, and the tennis balls are tucked away in the elastic of their skirts, Leslie takes one side and gestures for Ann to take the other.

“We're just rallying, right?” Ann asks, hesitation in her voice. “With Chris and Ben? It's not a real game or anything?”

Leslie bounces the bright yellow ball a few times. “Right, but I still want to kick their butts.” She bounces the ball again, this time to hit it. With a firm wrist, she swings the racquet, the ball hitting the center and making its way to Ann's side of the court where it bounces to her right. Ann lobs it high in the air, watching it along with Leslie as it falls out of bounds behind her. “Oh no,” Leslie says softly to herself. She calculates Ann briefly. “You're probably still out of practice. I'm going to hit a few straight to you, and I just want you to try to hit them back directly to me. Follow your swing through.”

Ann does get better as she warms up, but tennis, Leslie realizes, is not her best friend's strong point. She just hopes that Chris and Ben won't take it seriously either. Leslie instructs Ann to drop her racquet so they can do a lap around the court to warm their feet up. As they're making it around the last turn, Leslie sees the two stepping up.

Ben is wearing basic workout clothes: shorts and a teeshirt along with some sneakers. Chris, however, is decked in a classic, white tennis uniform and shoes, a large bag containing at least three racquets on his back. He waves to them. “Ann Perkins! Leslie Knope! Great idea on the tennis front, and even better idea to warm up those legs!” Ben nods in Leslie's direction, looking a little less enthusiastic but not entirely unhappy to be there.

“How about you guys warm up and then we'll start rallying?” Chris gives Leslie a thumbs up in response before doing push-ups on the ground. Meanwhile, Ben grabs a racquet from Chris' bag for himself and swings it experimentally while walking over to Leslie and Ann.

“He ran ten miles before we came here,” Ben says with his usual disbelief for his co-worker's fitness routine.

Leslie scoffs. “He probably feels insecure of his competition, right Ann?” Ann's silence and Ben's doubtful head tilt don't instill faith in Leslie. “Is that his own gear?”

Chris gets up from the ground and pulls out his racquet and a headband. “I think so. He had it in the back of his car with some golf clubs and shin guards,” Ben replies. “He probably just dabbles though.” He jogs over to join Chris. They talk briefly by the net before taking their positions. Chris takes a ball from his pocket, tosses it up, and gracefully jumps to serve it. The ball slices through the air before landing on the service line. Ben returns it, his form less exact than his partner's, but the ball's in.

“Crap,” Leslie and Ann mutter at the same time.

When it comes time to play, Leslie and Ann walk to join their court while Ben takes Chris' side, settling by the net while Chris is at the baseline. “You take the back. Chris is less likely to pummel us if you're on the receiving end,” Leslie murmurs.

“If you're sure,” Ann replies, taking her place.

Leslie's positioned just up from the service line. “No serves, just a nice back and forth for now.”

“You got it!” Chris is beaming, ecstatic to be able to play with the three of them. Ben glaces from the opposite side of the net to Leslie's right, nodding. This is it.

Chris hits a ball over, too high for Leslie to get, right to Ann. She returns it, but it goes straight to Ben. With a step, he reaches his racquet out and strikes the ball out of their reach. While Leslie's steaming, stepping back into position, Chris is congratulating them all on a good rally. He bounces another ball before hitting it over to Ann. It bounces a little shorter than the previous one, so Leslie calls out “I've got it,” before racing to the ball. She angles to hit it over Ben's head and back to Chris. The rally continues, back and forth, until the ball is high in the air above Leslie. She takes two steps back and strikes it down at Ben's feet so that he can't return it.

She runs back, cheering to Ann. “Just play the game, Knope,” Ben calls.

“I will!”

They continue on for a few rallies before switching positions, Ann and Chris at the net while Ben and Leslie hang back. Chris aims all of his shots high so Ann can return them, following the pointers he gives all the while. One of her shots skims the top of the net before falling over on Chris and Ben's side; the former cheers while the latter goes over to grab a swig of water. “Good call, partner. I am literally having the time of my life right now and cannot wait to resume after a five minute break.”

Ann and Leslie walk across to their bags by the other court. “This is fun, Les! Chris isn't competitive at all, and I'm really learning. Sorry if we're hogging the court, though. I'll let you get some in.”

“Ann, you beautiful arctic fox, this is perfect. We'll keep up the rallies with Chris teaching you so you can get good--”

“I wouldn't say I'm _not_ good--”

“And then, in a couple of weeks, we'll have a real game.” Leslie drinks heartily from her water bottle.

Twisting her racquet, Ann looks less sure. “What are you going to get out of it?”

A toothy grin lights up Leslie's face, her eyes searching. “I don't know yet.”

The teams return, and this time, Leslie aims to rally directly with Ben. She discovers his strengths – running, power – and his weakness – backhands. But when he catches on to what she's doing, he plays harder and her own weakness of perseverance catches up to her when she's winded from running all around the court. Leslie's panting and out of breath when Chris calls for a cool down, stretching and touching his toes. The others follow suit, and it's just by chance that when Leslie comes up from her stretch that she sees Ben staring at her. When he catches her gaze, he immediately looks down, picks up his racquet, and moves quickly to put his stuff away. _What was that about?_

All packed, Leslie's ready to head straight for the car and head back to Ann's when Chris offers lunch. Ann agrees to it, and since Leslie and Ben carpooled, there's no backing out. The two let Chris tell Ann about a tea that improves nail strength while invested in their own conversation.

“I didn't take you for a tennis player,” Leslie admits.

Ben's mouth turns up in a half smile. “I played a bit in college. It didn't involve a whole team of people, so it was easy to coordinate playing. The game's all angles too. You can anticipate where the ball's going by how the opponent hits it.”

“It's always numbers and coordinating with you, isn't it?” She laughs lightly, far from insulting him. “You're good, though. I played varsity doubles in high school, but it's been a while. Seemed easier to bring people together if there was something fun to do, something other than sitting around like we used to at work,” she says. Leslie doesn't say that she clearly didn't accomplish much by the turnout, although she's warming up more to Chris and Ben's company.

After a moment of silence, Ben hums. “Figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“The whole tennis get-up. You're a uniform girl!”

Leslie's puzzled. “A uniform girl?”

“Yeah! You've got the tennis outfit, and I'm sure you're some sort of troop leader. Probably the head of your emergency task force for the floor at City Hall... Anything else?”

But Leslie can't answer for a moment because she's having a revelation. “How do you know this? I didn't even know I fit a type; I just like having a designated outfit.”

“My sister was like that, always signing up for things because there was something special to wear. She was almost the school mascot just to be able to wear the beaver suit.” Ben's eyes crinkle when he smiles, and it feels so genuine that Leslie want to see it again and again, especially when he's talking to her. She likes the soft side of Ben Wyatt. She wishes she could see it more often.

The rest of their conversation runs just as smoothly without a single mention of budget cuts. She admits her affinity for musicals when he finally admits that he has one outfit in his closet – the Starfleet uniform. She doesn't notice Chris and Ann look at them expectantly at first until Ben's chatter dies down. Leslie realizes they're ready to go.

“Well, I guess I'll see you guys on Monday. Ann, I'll see you right now since you're my ride.” When Ann pulls out of the parking lot, Leslie sees Ben on the passenger side of Chris' car. He tilts his head and waves. Leslie's stomach flips, but she attributes it to all the french fries she ate off both her and his plate. That's all.

On Monday, she goes through the motions of budget slashes, watching the departments of her beloved Pawnee lose employees and services. After a slow day inside, she's itching to go on a run to help get back into shape. Of course, the parks are still closed, so she runs around her neighborhood to Sarah McLachlan, pumping negative feelings about her tennis competition into her head. She wants her parks open, damn it. Leslie knows it's not their fault that they have to cut the budgets, though; Chris and Ben just physically represent what has to be done. When she returns, gasping for breath, she calls Ann to make sure she's just exerted herself and not dying. Reassuring words from her best friend accepted, Leslie hangs up, resuming her evening in her empty house.

Throughout the rest of her week, she alternates between running and hitting a tennis ball against the side of her house. Leslie sends Ann a Youtube tutorial on serving, instructing her to watch it at least three times a day until it's engraved into her brain. Ann just sends back an ellipses. At 5pm on Friday, the budget meeting clears out. Leslie's packing up her six binders when Ben approaches. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she says smiling before raising her chin to appear tough, “bring your A-game, Wyatt.”

He assesses her. “Will do.” And they leave it at that.

Leslie sleeps over at Ann's again, and when they arrive to the courts, Leslie sets her up at the baseline to start practicing her serve.

“I dunno, Les. I watched the video, but I don't think I can get really good at it in time for next week's game,” Ann says nervously after her first serve goes right into the net.

Shaking her head, Leslie says, “It doesn't have to be good. It just has to be in! We can work with in.” Ann continues serving at a 50/50 success rate. Having not had a lesson in a couple of decades, Leslie just offers words of encouragement to her friend when Ann can't get it in.

“Ann Perkins!” Chris announces his presence. “You're doing great. Let me just help you with your form.” Like a cheerful, peppy, pro, Chris comes to the rescue, readjusting Ann's arm and ball toss. He's adamant about her getting it right, and it's taking quite a bit of time.

Ben joins Leslie at the sideline, racquet in hand and sweatbands around his wrists. “Wanna warm up on this court until they're ready?”

“Sure, why not?”

Taking opposite sides, Ben waits until Leslie nods before hitting a ball over, straight to her. They try not to run each other around too much. Leslie's swing puts the ball right at Ben's feet. He recovers, but his shot skims the top of net first, slowing it down and making the ball bounce just shy of the service line. Leslie sprints, extending her arm and grunting to get it over the net. Once it's over, Ben's running up too, and they lightly hit it back and forth to each other, just over the net. She starts laughing first at his comical, gentle swings, and then he breaks when she starts making tiny, high-pitched grunts with very hit. Ben hits the ball over while holding the racquet in between his legs, causing Leslie to laugh so hard that she kneels over to the ground. When the ball bounces at her side, she grabs it and throws it at him, her stomach aching from giggling.

He runs over to help, still laughing himself as he pulls her to a standing position. “Having fun you two?” Ann asks.

“Yeah, actually, I am,” Ben replies before gathering some of the loose tennis balls around the court to prepare for their doubles rally. When he's turned away, Ann gives a pointed look to Leslie, who shrugs innocently. Ann mouths that they'll talk later.

Cooling down her competitive streak, Leslie hits the ball back to Ben or Chris, and Ann even manages a few good swings. As a result, their rallying lasts longer in between missed shots. Ann and Leslie are the more vocal players, cheering and screaming when they have to run and reach for a shot before just barely making it over. During a water break, Leslie notices the sun shining brightly and it being a while since she applied sunscreen. She retrieves the bottle from her bag and applies it to her face and legs, propping them up against the bench. After reaching down to her ankles and thoroughly rubbing in the lotion, she comes back up, turning around to get her shoulders and arms.

That's when she sees Ben watching her again, like he's memorizing every move she makes. Leslie makes sure not to turn her head toward him to draw his attention. He's far enough away that he can't detect that she sees him. There are instincts telling Leslie no; nip this in the bud before she becomes too attracted to him and he leaves or worse, he has to fire her or her friends to save the budget. And then memories come shining through of rereading the article about Benji Wyatt, 18 year old mayor of Partridge, to her college roommates and her parents over the phone, awe in her voice. Leslie recalls him telling her about his past and guessing correctly her own aspirations of running for office with sincerity. He brought Freddy Spaghetti back! Ben Wyatt is a good guy - a good guy with a bad job that he took to help struggling towns and his own reputation.

Ben catches her eye and looks away, flustered. Rubbing the last of the lotion in, Leslie can't control the small smiling forming. She feels like she's in high school. Ann whispers something about Ben being more than just the competition, and Leslie's at a loss of what to say. “He's cute,” she offers, “and nice... And probably waiting for us to get back to the game.” With that, she hustles over, taking her place at the net, Ben opposite her.

For a moment, Leslie's afraid he'll avert his eyes and ignore her because she caught him looking at her, if what he was doing could even _remotely_ have been finding her attractive rather than just thinking “Wow, she wears a LOT of sunscreen. Good for her, looking out for her health.”

But Ben surprises her by smiling while getting into a low stance, knees bent. “What? Have I missed my chances to get picked for varsity? Damn...”

“Who knows? Someone might be admiring your form,” Leslie says, instantly regretting it. _Was that too flirty?_ His eyebrows raise, but before either of them can dwell on it too long, Ann's hitting a ball into play. It flies low, right to Chris.

He returns it. “Ann Perkins, well _done_!” And then they're off for another round of rallies. It runs smoothly, the only mishap being Ann's backhand that hits a ball right at Leslie's ass. She's caught between crying out in pain and laughing, so much so that when she tries to explain to Chris and Ben who didn't see where the ball hit, her words come out in a breathy mumble.

“You're okay though?” Ben asks, and Leslie nods, doubled over and clapping. They understandably call it a day after that. Ann has a shift at the hospital to prepare for, and since she's Leslie's ride and Leslie has her overnight bag at Ann's house, they decide against lunch.

Before they leave, however, Leslie approaches Chris and Ben. “How about we make next weekend more interesting?” Chris asks how, and Ben looks intrigued. “We play a set. Serves, calling shots out, no double bounces – a full-on set of tennis.”

Chris throws his large bag over his shoulder with the ease of lifting a feather. “Sounds fantastic, Leslie Knope! Healthy competition never hurt anybody, and it'll give Ann a great chance to test out her new serve!”

“Great! I'll see you two on Monday, then.” Leslie's smile is genuine, relieved that neither of them argued against the game. _Why would they? It's just a normal game of tennis._

Ben turns to her. “Have a good weekend,” he says. Maybe she's just imagining things, but Leslie's pretty sure she could hear skepticism in his voice.

On the drive back to Ann's house, Leslie is silent. “So...” Ann starts, “what was that about? You and Ben, messing around with each other. That's an interesting development.” Her eyes are on the road, but Leslie can see her friend's wide, teasing smile.

“He's not _so_ bad. I admit that I misjudged him.” She plays with the hem of her skirt.

“That's it? Any plans for asking him out, or--”

“They have to leave eventually,” Leslie interrupts, “so I don't know if it's worth it to complicate things or get invested.”

Ann parks the car and turns to Leslie. “You're blowing this out of proportion. It can be just drinks or dinner, something small without a binding contract.” Nodding, Leslie goes to grab their bags and leaves her friend to prepare for work.

She weighs her options through Monday. During the morning session of the budget meeting, Leslie tries not to watch Ben so much. She's in the front row, so it feels obvious when she stays transfixed on a certain part of him, be it his face, hair, torso, or ass, while he's talking. Offering a few good ideas on ways to cut down spending on office supplies and paper, she's thankful when they call lunch. Chris briskly leaves.

“Where's he going in such a hurry?” Leslie asks Ben while the room clears.

He looks up. “Oh, Chris? He just need to do 25 push ups, 25 pull ups, and look at himself in a mirror while he eats a kale salad to make sure he's exercising his jaw properly.”

“Do you want to join me for lunch then?” She looks at him, hopeful.

Ben smiles softly, eyebrows raising a fraction. “Yeah, sure.” As they leave the room, she contemplates where to eat. The courtyard is tempting, but other departments might be eating there and she doesn't want them to think she's bribing or coercing the auditors at all. The flower mural is tempting but seemingly too romantic and forward. With Chris in Ben's office, Leslie decides that her office is best. When they walk in, Ben glances over at Tom's empty desk. It's far from her. Too far.

“Here,” she says, pushing the paperwork on her desk aside, “pull up a chair.” The desk is long enough to allow them to both sit comfortably and not on top of each other. He gazes at her picture frames, hand-drawn thank you cards from Pawnee's students, and meticulously organized binders of ideas before pulling out his lunch. “A calzone?”

Ben scoffs. “What is it with everyone hating on the calzone? It's amazing! It's a portable pizza!”

“No, no, no,” Leslie says, mirth in her voice, “it definitely isn't. Watch... la la la la la, I'm driving!” Pantomiming driving, she pretends to take a bite out of an imaginary calzone. “So yummy, but _achacha!_ Hot marinara dripped on my legs! Aaaahhh!!!!” She swerves her imaginary car. “If you couldn't tell, I just crashed and died. _Pizza roles_ are the portable pizza. _Calzones_ are for the people who think the crust is the best part of the pizza.”

He looks at her like she's crazy and amazing at all once. “Then what would you say is the best food?”

“Waffles, obviously.” She has a sandwich today, or else she would introduce him to the glorious world of JJ's waffles.

“You can't drive and eat a waffle!”

“ _That's_ why they invented waffle dunkers.”

Their lunch seems too short when they go back to the meeting. Leslie's cheeks are red and ache from grinning so much, and she tries not to seem too giddy when Ben leaves Tom's chair by her desk “for tomorrow.” They continue the routine, acting professional and nothing more than courteous during their meetings and then letting loose when they're alone and can joke around and talk candidly. On Wednesday, Leslie brings in one of JJ's waffles, leaving a fresh canister of whipped cream in the Parks fridge. During lunch, she gives Ben a bite, not even blinking at the fact that she's feeding him with her fork. Holding her breath, she waits until he relents and says the waffle is good. It's not just his acceptance of the waffle but an accumulation of the past few weeks that has Leslie suddenly dropping the question.

“Doyouwanttograbadrink?” The words rush out of Leslie's mouth before she has the chance to second guess herself. If she's lucky, Ben will have not heard her and they can continue on with their conversation as if nothing's amiss. He looks like he's about to question what she just said until he takes a moment, deconstructs her rushed babble, and puts it back together again.

Ben nods with that small smile that feels more genuine than the larger one he uses to rally up the departments for ideas. That small smile that brings a glow to his face. That small smile that will launch a thousand energetic texts to Ann later. “Sure.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow? As in Thursday? Uh, okay.”

Arranging the details seem to be more difficult than the actual act of asking Ben out. Every decision calmly vocalized to him comes with an exhausting, internal back-and-forth on Leslie's part. Meeting at the bar they grabbed a beer at during his first week in Pawnee is simpler than the Snakehole Lounge with it's loud music and familiar faces. It lacks in intimacy in conversation, though, so she plans on getting there early to scope out the table furtherest away from any loud speakers. Even the time to meet means something – right after work seems too friendly, especially with their business casual clothing. 9pm implies leaving room for other plans in between and leaves too much time for backing out. 7pm it is, then.

Then it's all back to the boring real world. Leslie excuses herself to the restroom to call Ann, instructing her to be at Leslie's place at 5:12pm, exactly when she arrives home from work. She needs help with an outfit for tomorrow, as well as conversation starters, sexy gestures, and recommendations for drinks that won't make her burp or get too drunk too fast. They end up walking through the front door together due to Leslie's exact timing, and Ann is ready.

“Wear: The black dress with the lace trim on the neckline and bottom,” she begins, counting off with her fingers. “Talk about: anything but work – say favorite movies, how he spends his free time, favorite music, etc. Sexy Gestures: put your hand on your neck or on your face subtly to draw attention to your lips. Drink: either light beer or a wine spritzer.”

Leslie pulls Ann in for a tight embrace. “Oh Ann, this time tomorrow, I'm going to be panicking about everything you just said and doubting every ounce of it, but I'm so happy I have you here to say it.”

Thursday's work day is a living hell for Leslie. She's tapping her pen against her binder and eying the clock, convinced it must be broken for how slowly time is passing. Ben has to take a meeting at lunch, and while she's disappointed, it relieves her that she doesn't have to keep up an hour of awkward conversation about anything but their date. Leslie takes up lunch alone in her office, staring at Ben's empty seat. At 5 o'clock, she nods to him while walking out, texting that she'll see him in a couple of hours so as to not draw any attention to them. Her phone chimes instantly. “Great, see you then,” his text reads.

After nearly jogging to her car, she speeds home, getting there at 5:11pm – a minor victory. “Listen to Ann, listen to Ann,” she repeats to herself as she showers, shaves, blow dries her hair, and applies fresh make-up. Leslie doesn't date often, hating the entire ruse of it all when it comes down to appearances and polite conversation instead of just relaxing and having fun. The worst part is determining how far the evening will progress. Ben probably won't see her underwear. Probably. But wearing something sexy instills confidence in her, so she puts on the lacy black bra and panties before stepping into the black dress Ann suggested and zipping it up. The dress is form-fitting, but not overly so. The neckline shows just a tease of cleavage, and Leslie believes that if Ben needs to see proof that she's not all bureaucracy, this is the dress to do it.

Her black heels are just an inch high so as to not dwarf her date. She puts together a black purse with her wallet, keys, phone, inebriation chart, and a condom hidden away in a zipped up compartment. Again, probably not going to happen. Probably. Leslie leaves then, determined to find that best table. When she arrives, she's still half an hour early. The place isn't too busy, so the bartender can see her clearly scoping the place. He wearily approaches her.

“Can I help you, miss?” The question catches her off guard.

She finally nods. “I'm looking for a table that's close to the bar, is far from the speakers and noise, _and_ isn't out of the eye line by the door.” When the bartender looks like he's about to protest her operation, she admits that she's on a first date with someone and wants it to go well. He gestures to a table on her left. It feels no different than any of the other tables, but now that she's sitting, she calms some. It's freeing, thinking that she's done all that she can and that it's out of her hands besides just being herself. That's not the Leslie Knope way that insisted on those penguins getting married and ensuring that those children got their Freddy Spaghetti concert, but it will have to do because Ben walks through the door and sees her immediately.

He walks up to the table in skinny jeans, a nice button down, and a dark leather jacket. It's sleekly casual and incredibly sexy. Leslie stands up to greet him, moving in for a hug naturally and refusing to think over if a handshake would have been a better idea. Ben doesn't seem to mind, hugging back and looking her over. “You look great,” he says, and she's thanking Ann and whoever designed this dress in her head.

“So do you!” They're both standing, unsure of what to do next. “Drinks?” Leslie asks.

Ben removes his jacket and places it on the table to hold it for them. “Yeah, what do you want?”

The first drink that pops into Leslie's head is pina colada, followed by a cosmopolitan, and then that cotton candy drink she tried once at a Sweetums party. Reminding herself that she's not here to get drunk or to name drinks the bartender will likely say he can't do, she says “A red wine spritzer.”

“Okay. Hang tight, I'll order this round.” When he leaves, she sits in the booth, crossing one leg over the other. His jacket is still there, and she can't help herself; she touches the cool leather.

Returning with the drinks, Ben places her light, bubbling beverage in front of her before moving his jacket onto his side and sliding in with a beer. “It's a nice jacket,” Leslie says, hoping to not seem weird for touching it.

Taking a swig from the bottle, he delves right into conversation as if something has been on his mind. “So, why Thursday night? I mean, don't get me wrong - I'm happy to be here and all, but aren't drinks for Fridays or Saturdays?”

“Well, tomorrow night is the night before our game. I can't risk getting a hangover before the big day.” Leslie sips her spritzer, the wine and seltzer mix refreshing and light. The bubbles make her crinkle her nose.

Ben squints one eye while turning his head slightly, which Leslie takes to mean he's trying to piece something together. “Now that you mention it... What's the big deal about this game on Saturday? You're taking it very seriously.”

“If you must know,” she begins after having a bit more of her drink, his line of questions making her nervous, “I want to wager something. But before you ask a bunch of questions, I honestly don't know what yet. I've been thinking on this for a while, but I don't know what I want from you that I could actually get, seeing as I'm not sure you're allowed to wager budgets and salaries.”

“It's a gray area, yeah,” he jokes. “You're incredibly smart and savvy, though. I'm sure you'll think of something.” The compliment eases her nerves and opens her up for conversation. When he questions her drink choice, she admits that wine goes straight to her head but tastes better than beer. She tells him about the first time she got drunk at her friend's Bat Mitzvah when some boys changed the signs for wine and grape juice unbeknownst to her and Leslie just though the grape juice tasted funny in a good way.

Ben downs a bit of beer before telling his story, embarrassed throughout explaining that after he was sworn in as mayor, he couldn't throw a big party without the town knowing and gossiping about his underaged drinking so he instead called it an early night and got really drunk with his friends in his basement while watching the original three _Star Wars_ films. Leslie's in a giggle fit after that, calling him cute but not minding now that her glass is nearly empty and her mind is starting to run her thoughts together. “I'll go get another round,” she offers, speaking up to be heard over the other patrons.

“No, no, I'll do it,” he protests, moving to slide out of the booth.

Leslie shakes her head. “C'mon, I asked _you_ out!” She grabs her purse and heads over, wondering while her drink is being made if Ben originally though that they were going out as just friends and if she just outed herself. Drinks in hand, she places one by his hand before sitting.

“I'm glad you did. Asked me out, I mean.” He seems nervous, quieter, as if the words are harder to come by.

She clinks his bottle with her glass. “I'm glad I did too. Besides, it's not every day that you get to go on a date with a real mayor!” He nods while laughing, accepting her joke, before drinking again. The hesitancy is broken.

They're well into their third drinks when they realize they're getting drunk. When Ben brings it up, Leslie pulls out her chart and says that she's going to save both their lives with it. Yep, definitely drunk. She keeps drinking, hoping that if they still have a reason to be in the bar, they won't leave and call it a night. She doesn't want to leave.

It seems the rest of Pawnee hasn't received the memo about their date, however, when a large group comes in to watch a game. Ben and Leslie's conversation about the best movie of the 21st century is drowned out by cheering. “Let's get out of here,” Ben says, grabbing his jacket. Leslie follows without questioning, delighted when he puts his hand on her back while they walk out.

Only once they're outside, they're not sure what to do. Leslie pulls out her chart again. “If my estimates are correct, you can't drive for another 25 minutes, and I've got at least half hour to go.” She looks around the parking lot, then out to the street. Most shops are closed, and her house is too far to walk.

“We could just hang out in a car?” His words don't hold any of the innuendo Leslie remembers from her high school years of being invited to a backseat, so she accompanies him to his car with the air of someone invited to sit on a bench. Ben moves the front seats up and opens the door to the back for her, the set up allowing plenty of leg space. Once Leslie's in, he walks around the other side and joins her. It smells of his new car scented air freshener, and she's so far past caring if she looks casual or slumpy that she chooses to sit leaning on her side, head against the seat. He turns to match her. “I think I know what you should waver,” he says a bit louder than necessary.

“Yeah? What is it?” She's leaning forward, interested and now very close to his face.

He puts a hand in front of him, just millimeters from hers. “If I win the game, you have to pay to take me out to dinner. And if you win, I'll pay to take you out.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “Mmkay,” she manages to get out. Leslie leans in closer, their foreheads touching. This feels right.

“No,” Ben whispers, shaking his head. Leslie pulls back like she's been burned. “No, I want to Leslie. I really do. But we're drunk, and I don't want to forget this or make it feel any less...” He searches for the word, finally settling on “real.”

His words are so sweet that she kisses him on the cheek. “We're too old to make out for the first time in the back of a car, anyway.” Her words are light, her heart beating from his sweet words so quickly that she thinks it might fall out of her chest and fly away.

“What? Who're you calling old?” And then they're back to laughing until she checks her phone and sees that they're well beyond the time to sober up. Ben insists that he can drive her home if she doesn't feel okay, but she's fine. She's really fine. When she gets home, the memory of him flashing his headlights at her before he turned in an opposite direction fresh in her mind, she texts Ann that everything went amazingly. It's late, but her best friend replies anyway with half a dozen emoticons. With a permanent smile on her face, Leslie removes her make-up, brushes her teeth, and gets into her pajamas, falling asleep soon after her head hits the pillow.

The smile's gone when she awakens, her head throbbing. At work, Ben doesn't look much better, but he still smiles at her while the rest of the departments gather. When they eat lunch, Ben tells her about his first hangover the morning after being sworn in. As they're cleaning up, Ben's words about their first kiss being real etched into her brain, Leslie asks if they're wager is on. “Of course,” Ben says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and she feels silly for doubting herself.

The afternoon rolls by quickly. Chris shows no sign of knowing about a wager when he tells her how much he's looking forward to their game. “I'm so excited, in fact, that I'm going to take everyone out to lunch and think about other healthy ways we can spend our time together.”

“I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Chris! I'll see you bright and early tomorrow. You too, Ben.” And he nods, leaving it at that.

Bag packed, Leslie leaves for Ann's and spends the evening gushing about drinks with Ben. Every ounce of her wants to tell Ann the truth about the wager, but she wants the victory to feel private and not forced by either her or Ben's teammate. This is between them, and them only. When they get ready for bed, Leslie puts out her outfit for the next day, nostalgic for finding her old high school uniform and still fitting in it. She sleeps soundly, ready for what tomorrow brings.

It brings heat. Plenty of heat. Leslie's wiping her brow just while warming up with Ann. Her Pawnee High School varsity tennis shirt is practically damp by the time Ben and Chris show up.

“Drink plenty of water, guys,” Chris shouts over to them, prompting the two to head over and drink some. Ben's watching her, and Leslie's a little self-conscious that her skirt, despite having athletic shorts underneath, is shorter than the others she's worn. Of course, that also makes her feel sexy and adventurous, but there's not a lot of time for that. After doing their last stretches and Ben and Chris are all warmed up on their court, it's time for the set.

Leslie flips a coin while Ben calls heads. The coin lands heads up, so he decides to serve. Leslie matches Ben on the baseline, Ann and Chris on the service line ready. Bouncing the ball twice, he looks at Leslie with a smug smile before throwing the ball up in the air and serving. The ball's faster than Leslie expects; it lands in and flies by her. “15-Love,” Ben calls, pleased with that score. When he serves next, Leslie swings, lobbing the ball over to Chris who spikes it in past Ann and her. She's fuming, even though she knows they have a long way to go and having a bad attitude won't help. Ben's serves continue to fly true, and though Leslie manages to get a ball over that he can't return, the boys win the first game.

The teams switch sides of the court, and it's Ann's serve. Leslie votes against saying anything to Ann to keep her calm, having faith when her best friend nods at the baseline. At the net, Leslie acknowledges Ben, congratulating him on the first game. “Don't get used to winning, though,” she says right before Ann serves. The serve isn't very fast, but it lands in the service box nonetheless. Chris returns it in Ann's direction, but Leslie side-steps and returns it with rapid speed to the right of Chris. He has no trouble making it to return, and when he does, Leslie sees her opening, hitting the ball and earning the point. Using her quick thinking and anticipation, not to mention Ann's solid serving, they win the game. There's still a long way to go.

The score is 4-3 in Chris and Ben's favor when they take a longer break, each player panting and drinking water and sports drinks. While Chris details Ann's progress to her, Ben moves closer to Leslie.

“Just give up, Knope, and accept that you'll have to pay.” His shirt is soaked through and his hair is damp. She has half a mind to suggest he just take the shirt off, but that might just be entirely too distracting.

Pulling a ball out from her skirt, Leslie walks away, turning around to say, “Not a chance. You're about to see the best comeback story of all time.” It's her serve. She doesn't have the energy to get a fast one in, so it's just about keeping the ball in play. The strategy gets her to deuce: 40-all. Two more in, and it's another point for her and Ann. She can do this. Her first serve is a little dirty, just making it over the net and catching Ben off guard enough for him to not reach it in time. She smirks while walking over, the advantage hers. This serve is more fair, bouncing on the service line. Ben returns it straight to Leslie, who lobs it high. The sun's bright, so when Ben and Chris look up to return, they can barely see it. Chris hits it straight to Ann. She barely touches it with her racquet, it rolls on the net, and as if by listening to Ann's prayer, falls on the opposite side. 4-4. They can do this.

“We've got this, Leslie,” Ann says when the sun is at its highest and the score is now 5-4 in their favor. “I just have to keep the ball in and you can work your magic. I'll try not to mess it up for you.” Despite her pumped up attitude, Ann's words aren't very positive.

Leslie puts her hand on Ann's shoulder, not minding that it's gleaming with perspiration. “Hey, you've done amazingly! We couldn't have gotten this far in the set without you. I wouldn't even be able to play without you on my team! I love you, Ann. You're the best, most beautiful friend anyone could ask for.” After hugging it out, they take their sips of water and get in position. Ann's ready. Leslie's at the net. It's all counting on this game.

Ann serves, but it faults. With her only other try at hand before they lose the point, she takes some deep breaths and bounces the ball a few times. Leslie turns around to give her friend a thumbs up. When she turns back, it's to see Ben nodding in acknowledgement of her support. “Whatever happens--”

“Save it for dinner, Ben,” Leslie says, but there's no malice in her voice, just eagerness to win. Ann's second serve lands in, and Chris returns it to her. They hit it back and forth to each other until Ben intervenes, hitting one solidly too low for Ann to return. Everyone moves for the next serve.

“Still confident?” Ben asks, trying to distract her. Ann serves again. Chris' return hits straight into the net.

Releasing a breath, Leslie braggingly says, “You bet.”

“Great serve, Ann Perkins!” At least Chris is still brimming with positive energy.

Ann smiles, and thanks him. “15-all,” she calls out before serving again. Chris's return flies straight to Leslie at alarming speed. She blocks her face with her racquet, wrist firm. The ball bounces off it, just barely landing in on the far right of the court. Though Ben and Chris run to reach it, neither can make it in time. “30-15!”

Before she serves, Leslie notices Ben murmur something to Chris. She looks across the net, brow furrowed, but both look innocent. Ben glances at her from the side of his eye, half of his mouth turned up in a smile. When Ann hits the ball, Chris returns without a lot of power. “I've got it,” Leslie announces, running over to hit it. The ball flies over to Ben who hits it shallow on the opposite side. “I've got this one too,” Leslie pants, running over to it. She makes sure to hit it to Chris. His return goes to Ann, who hits it back to him. His eyes on Leslie, Chris hits the ball up by the net again for her to return. “Really?” She asks aloud, realizing their plan is to tire her out. It pisses her off mostly because it's working. With half a mind to hit a ball out just to end it, she waits until one is back to her before hitting it with a solid backhand deep into the corner of the court behind Ben. Chris' unsteady return hits the back of Ben's head, earning Ann and Leslie the point. “It's called karma, boys!” Leslie yells before rushing over to hug Ann.

“Last one,” she says to Leslie, who's nodding and not entirely listening because she's so tired. “Last one and then we can eat and shower and not move and it'll be great.” They get into position. “40-15! Match point!” Ann serves to Chris, the ball landing very close to the net.

Ben can only watch, horrified. “C'mon, Chris!” Stretching out a long arm, Chris hits the ball over and struggles to recover. Gasping at the sight of an amazing opening, Leslie spikes the ball to the baseline where Ben's trying to hustle to. He barely hits the ball, watching as it flies up but bounces before passing the net. At the sound of him dropping his racquet, it clicks in Leslie's head that she's won. She's cheering, running to hug Ann. They return to the net to shake hands with Chris. Chris has another idea, pulling them in as close as he can for a hug, and grabbing Ben to join.

“I literally cannot believe how well that game went! Let's go out to lunch, but I believe a shower is in order. Shall we meet in say, an hour?” Agreeing with all the energy they have, Ann and Leslie go to pack up. Ann takes the half of a water bottle she has left and opens it, pouring the water over Leslie's head. Shrieking she throws a sweaty towel at Ann, and the two are laughing away the aches and pains of nearly two hours of tennis. When they walk out to the parking lot, they see Ben and Chris loading up Chris' car.

“See you two soon,” Leslie says.

Ben waves, looking tired but still happy. “See you there.”

Once they're on the road, Leslie reaches to her bag and pulls out her phone, texting Ben. “I hope you know that because of that move you pulled, I'm going to order the most expensive thing on the menu when you take me out.” She's enjoying sitting in front of an air conditioner vent for a few minutes when she hears that she has a text.

Ben: I want a rematch. The circumstances were unfair.

Leslie: How so?

Ben: It was hot...

Leslie: The amazing Ann and I managed to win in the heat. Rematch vetoed.

Ben: You were distracting me.

Leslie: With my amazing talent?

Ben: With your short skirt.

It takes Leslie a moment to recover from that. Before she can think of a response, Ben is texting her again.

Ben: Sorry, that was incredibly inappropriate.

Leslie: Not entirely - the skirt was short. Any distractions are subjective, though it has been noted that you are a legs man. Rematch, once again, vetoed.

Ben: Let the record state that I also enjoyed the black dress from the other night.

Leslie: Noted. Are you interested in taking up a record of your own? If so, put that jacket on it and the skinny jeans.

Their texting stops when she gets back to Ann's. They alternate showering before changing and heading back out. The lunch with Ben and Chris is easygoing, though involves enduring Chris' lengthy list of sports and exercises to do together. Ann steps in to mention heat illness and perhaps waiting until it gets cooler. Chris isn't easily deterred.

“I'll look up indoor sporting nearby and return to you with my results. Regardless... Leslie Knope, great game! Ben and I were talking in the car about how well you endured and even came back from the losing side using your wits. I am so proud of you.”

Leslie is pleasantly surprised to hear they spoke of her in the car. “Thank you, both of you. I'm just so happy that you two joined to play. I was hesitant and honestly pretty upset when there wasn't a huge turnout, but it turned out to be a lot of fun. And just because we're taking a break from playing doesn't mean we all have to be strangers outside of work.” She says that last bit while looking at Ben. Rather than vocalizing a response, he sips from his water to hide a smile.

Their dinner is scheduled for the next evening. Leslie, dressed in a red dress per Ann's suggestion, doesn't order the most expensive thing on the menu, but rather enriches their meal with more conversation. When their plates are empty, they linger at the table, neither of them wanting to leave. It is getting late, however, and they have work the following morning. Ben walks Leslie to her car, covering her with his leather jacket.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says pointedly.

He leans in close. “You earned it...literally. The ball's in your court now, Knope. How do you want to proceed?”

There's no hesitation, no second guessing, no added influence from any drinks. It's all Leslie Knope when she kisses Ben Wyatt slowly and soundly, arms around his neck, her back pressed against her cool car, and his leather jacket warming her. “Do you still want that rematch?” She asks after breaking away.

“After reconsidering, I think I'm pleased with the results,” he responds and moves in to kiss her again.


End file.
